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Original Post:

I get up and go through my morning routine, getting ready to go in to the office. Somehow I get off-track and don't start my workout until 8:00. This throws my whole day out of whack, as the workout takes me until 8:30, then shower and stuff pushes my departure time back to 9:00. Did I mention I'm supposed to be at the office by 9:15, and it's a 35-minute drive?

Not even 5 miles into the trip, the "low fuel" light comes on, and I need to stop and get some gas. While filling up, I try to call my boss to let him know I'll be late. It turns out I don't have him saved in my cell phone, but I remember that he called me last week, and I flip through the "recent calls" list to find one that looks likely. Unfortunately, there are two. I call the first one.

The phone rings, there's no answer, and voice mail picks up. Unfortunately, it's one of those voice mail messages that only tells you what number you called, so I don't know if it's his or not. I decide not to leave a message.

As I'm screwing up the courage to call the next number on my list of likely suspects, the phone rings. It's some annoyed-sounding lady wanting to know who I am and what I want. I try to explain the situation, and she keeps interrupting me with grouchy interrogatives, before saying "you've got the wrong number" and hanging up.


I decide I've had enough of that, so I don't call any more numbers, and just get to the office as fast as I can, preparing to apologize for holding up the works.

I arrive at the office without further incident, only to find out the boss is not there. It turns out that when he said "I have meetings all day every Monday, so we'll meet Tuesday", I somehow flipped that around in my head.

I get his phone number from the office manager and program it into my cell phone. Turns out that, had I been brave enough to try the next number in my list of questionable numbers, it would have been his, which would have saved me a whole bunch of driving.


The spouse-unit had said we need something from the store, so on my way back home I call her and ask what it was. She doesn't remember, but it comes to me -- we're out of Kleenex. Kleenex is of course a "vital staple" in a house with someone (me) whose allergies turn them into the Glazed Donut Monster 6 months out of the year.

So I stop at our local grocery, because I don't want to mess with the lines and congestion at Wal-Mart (even though they're probably cheaper), and head for the paper products aisle. They don't have Kleenex in the handy shrink-wrapped 3-packs, so I have to stack up a bunch of boxes (I decide 8 should work) and try to carry them to the cashier. Halfway there, I fumble them all over the floor.

After re-stacking, I get them wrangled up to the cashier, pay for them, and look on in mild irritation as she stuffs 4 plastic bags with 2 boxes apiece (I think the bags could have held 3). I'm holding up the gentleman behind me as I hand over my debit card, get it swiped, and their slow-as-molasses system crunches the numbers. The guy behind me sets his 97-cent 2-liter of Diet Coke on the counter along with his $1 bill, and is forced to wait as the machine does its thing, I get a receipt to sign, and all that other crap happens (so much for that commercial that says cash is too slow).

So in my hurry to get out of his way, I scoop up the bags, grab my receipt, and head for the door. As I reach for the push bar to open the door, my hand smacks into the magazine rack sitting way too close to it, and knocks a bunch of magazines on the floor.


It's almost enough to make me want to crawl back into bed and wait for tomorrow. Today clearly isn't my day.